During a travel in Shangri La , the floating love in sunrays and choirs of birds opened my eyes.
And I found myself lying on mat on terrace with a handsome smiling man reflecting in sun.

While rolling mat , an invisible breezy naughty kid played with my messy hair and tickled and whistled in my ears.
Seeing this , the aunt flowers smiled and swayed in euphoria.
Closing the kid behind my terrace's door just before my way to downstairs, I sighed in relief.
And the kid went very far and higher and higher...

Capturing this moment , I poured it down into my diary.

Maybe it takes someone stronger
Machine guns equipped with a smile
Still, I ride on the wings of the littlest things
To try to forget for a while

the life will go
with our souls
which move this bad waves

these surrounding our boat
which will float
and resists every worst

life is deserved
to show your brilliant
smile.

Black, blue and all the colors together,
Miles and meters could not take a measure,
The mystery so deep below,
No digging could make people know,
The crawlers, swimmers and the squishers of dye,
Under the blankets of waves they lie,
Loneliness never did they know,
Plastic adorned the green one low,
The oils and straws a part of their diet ,
It is becoming rather quiet,
Swimmers now floating,
Oh no !Are they evolving or Perishing.

I'm on the ceiling
I'm the words you float on
Up in the air
Without a care

The melodic jingle is a violent reminder
that I am not where I am supposed to be.

The cacophony haunts the cul-de-sac;
whispering, whimpering, "you're temporary."

They signal a force that we can not see,
a warning we dismiss as background beauty.

I worry when they chime too loud,
that they may break -
fractured shards scatter across miles.

I worry in their silence,
that they may forget to warn me
that fragile frames fall down quickly.

But in their absence or their presence,
the persistent winds remain.

So it doesn't make a difference.
If I float away, I float away.

hallowing darkness
wordless psychedelic sounds
transcending my griefs

Don’t let it go
Don’t hide it deep inside.

Let it float

Let it adrift the way your wind blows,
When the time comes
And it washes ashore
You will then know whether to hold on
...or if it’s already gone.

Inflated egos float up
to the summit with fates
cradled in each hand to
decide whether we peak
or plummet.